Let Me Help You
by TwinkleTwinklePatrickStar
Summary: Clint has been acting strange, and Natasha is determined to find out why. The Avengers are sent to investigate something in Bangladesh, and come across something otherworldly and dangerous. Mostly Natasha and Clint narrative, but plenty of the rest of them. Edit; wow okay this is turning quite dark. Now with 78% more SERIOUS FEAR AND PAIN! :D
1. Chapter 1

Clint is a liar. Lying is how he survives, how he makes a living. No honest man could ever do what he does, what he did. An assassin who cannot lie his way around the bullets in his teeth is a dead assassin. Even though he had left his career in silent murders, and joined the far more reputable Avengers Initiative, Clint could not leave that portion of himself behind. To stop lying would be akin to leaving his bow behind; it was a part of him. That isn't to say he's compulsive by any means. Clint is more than capable of separating necessary falsehoods from pointless lies. He is just too accustomed to secrecy. Secrecy is what spawns lies, the shallow half truths and bold misrepresentations. As long as Clint is living, he will lie.

When he is in his apartment,staring at his fairly empty pantry with vacant eyes, and the phone rings, he lies.

"Yes." _No, I'm not. Don't ask me to go._

"Of course." _I haven't even fixed my torn uniform from the last time._

"On my way." _I'm going to take my time, I'm sick of being treated as your lapdog, to be ready at your beck and call. _

Clint takes his time changing into his uniform, maneuvering so he doesn't tear the seam on his shoulder even more. He carefully places his arrows and bow in his duffel bag, grabs a twenty from under his mattress and leaves his apartment, not bothering to lock the door. After all, anything he'd miss, he was carrying with him. By the time Clint reaches the busy New York road, he has already prepared a list of things to tell the team. Tony, as usual, will ask him obnoxiously personal questions, to which Clint will simply reply, "around, here and there.". Steve is subtler, and will ask how he's been since the last time they saw each other, because golly, it's been months, hasn't it? Clint will try a small smile, and say he's just fine, just fine. On and on the pleasantries will go, each new arrival greeted with a shout and clap on the back, and each new bout of enthusiasm will have Clint's stomach in knots and acid in his throat. Clint will lie, and lie, and lie, and the biggest lie he tells, no one will even question; why would they? Clint Barton, Hawkeye, Spy and Assassin, is trained to lie. There are three people on Earth who can catch him in a lie, and two taught him how to deceive, the other, the other he never lies to. Lies by omission don't count, anyways.

When Clint reaches the block that is home to Stark Towers, he has already worked out his plan of operation. He will show up, be cordial, answer probing questions with vague answers, complete the mission and go home. His feet take him to the smooth, futuristic door that is the ground floor entrance to Stark Towers. A small whirring noise tells him that the cameras are analyzing him, making sure Clint Barton is really Clint Barton, and then the door opens with a whoosh quite similar to Star Trek. Tony's sense of humor was usually too crude for him to enjoy, but Clint actually found his nerd humor slightly enjoyable. He took his time walking inside, and entering the elevator. He pressed the button for 7th floor, and as the speakers pumped out AC/DC's TNT, typical of Tony, Clint adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder, using the strap to cover the tear in his uniform. The elevator comes to a smooth stop, and opens on a large, comfortable bar and sitting room. On one couch, Tony sits with an arm slung over the couch behind Pepper, and on another he sees Steve inspecting his shield, and muttering something under his breath to Bruce, who chuckles. Clint steps out of the elevator car and Tony grins up at him.

"Hey stranger, long time no see." Clint half smiles, and gives shrug as Tony leaves the couch and begins to walk towards him. "Seriously though, where the hell have you been? I've tried to get ahold of you at least a dozen times."

Clint's smile becomes fixed, and he answers offhandedly, "I had some personal things to do. Sorry." He allows Tony to clap him on the back, before he turns toward the bar, intending on making himself something harsh before the debriefing. Natasha is already there, and holding up a small glass for him to take. He takes it from her, and before he can bring the glass to his lips, her fingers close around his wrist. Clint looks down at her hand, small and impossibly fragile. He had, on many occasions, seen her punch men twice her size in the face, blacking their eyes and breaking their noses. In the midst of the fight, she is full of adrenaline and pain doesn't hinder her much. But later, after the mission is complete and they are on the way back to wherever they're hiding, Clint has seen her cradle those delicate fingers to her chest, broken and bruised. She squeezes, and his eyes drift up to meet hers. They question him, not accusatory, but concerned. He forces his smile wider, and says, "Thanks, 'Tash." before pulling his hand away and bringing the glass to his lips. He turns his back to her and faces the rest of the room. Tony stares at him, his eyebrows quirked, but after a moment of Clint staring coolly back, shrugs and begins.

"So, Fury called. He was completely rude and didn't even bother asking how I was. You'd think with a bunch of on the edge, capable of anything super heroes he would be a little more diplomatic in his dealings, but no, he just starts barking orders-"

"_Tony_."

"Right, er, Sorry Pep. I was saying, we have a potentially dangerous situation unfolding in eastern Bangladesh right now. All kinds of signs and flares started showing up on our radar and sensors, it's looking otherworldly. And, seeing as how right now Thor is back in Asgard, probably eaten live oxen or whatever it is he does, we're all there is."

Steve half raised his hand to get Tony's attention. "So, do we have any idea what we're dealing with here? Define...otherworldly."

Tony pulled a small laser pointer from his pocket, and aimed it at the large blank television screen on the wall. It soon proved to be more than a laser and television, of course. While Tony manipulated the screen to show several feeds of data and information, he summed up what he knew so far.

"Honestly, all we have are flares of all kinds of energy signatures, unheard of here on Earth, but similar to the ones we get when Thor starts messing around with his thunder and Godly glory. So we know it's probably powerful, whatever it is. And we know it's becoming stronger. Within the past 48 hours, the flares started popping up around India, random and only for short periods of time."

Tony pulled up a map, with pinpricks of red light appearing and fading in India. Bruce stood, and moved closer to the screen to better see the strings of scientific terms and data streaming across the bottom.

"Then, they started appearing in more concentrated quantities, and lasting longer, moving East." The map reflected Tony's words, and larger red streaks formed, reaching towards Bangladesh. "That was at the 24 hour mark. Now, 47 and a half hours after the flares first appeared, we have hot flashes sparking up smack dab in the middle of Bangladesh."

The map now had a glowing red spot in Bangladesh, with small streaks occasionally showing up in India and Nepal.

Now Natasha spoke. She had moved from standing behind Clint, to the other side of the room. "What about Europe's officials. Why is this our jurisdiction?"

Tony shrugged. "Fury called dibs."

Pepper pursed her lips, and corrected him. "Director Fury and his squadron have the most experience in these conflicts. Thor and his brother, cordial relations with Asgard, et cetera."

Clint set the empty glass on the bar. "So when do we leave?"

* * *

When they arrive in Bangladesh, it is dark, and the wind tears at their hair and clothing as they exit the helicopter. They are greeted by several important looking officials, but they don't say much. The tallest of the man nods to Tony, or, now that he is suited up, Iron Man, and hands him a thin folder. Bruce exchanges a few words with one of the other officials, and turns to the Avengers.

He has to shout above the combined wind from the helicopter and natural forces to be heard as he takes the folder from Tony's metal hand. "The address is here, along with the most recent information on the flares. They're sending cars for us."

He turns back towards the men in suits, and says more words in Bangla, and then the men turn back towards their cars, and drive away.

"Is that it, we get a piece of paper and they leave?" Steve shouted, watching the black car get smaller in the distance.

Bruce nodded. "They don't want to be too involved."

Clint sees the two cars approaching before the others. After ten minutes of standing in the dark, freezing wind, he was relieved to see them. Natasha had subtly made her way to his side, and pointedly asked him, "What the hell is wrong with you?" Clint hadn't been able to answer that, nor could he ignore the hurt look that crossed her face, before it became a closed off expressionless wall again, as he turned his back on her. For the second time. Finally Tony noticed the cars, and alerted the rest of the group. They were quiet when the cars slowed to a halt in front of them. Again, Bruce spoke for the group, and soon they were seated in the backs of the cars, and speeding towards God knows what.

In one car, Bruce and Tony puzzled over the energy signatures and power surges. Steve sat across from them, his face a little slack as he tried to process the words both scientists were using. The road was rough, and every bump and pothole caused Steve to be jarred in his seat, and his shield to clang against the metal flooring. The cars were more like rough transport for convicts, than travel mechanisms. In the other, Natasha and Clint were seated across from each other, the air between them stale and tense. Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned back, her eyes steady on Clint's face. Clint was determinedly ignoring her, instead silently arranging his sheath of arrows on his bag, so the duffel bag could be abandoned. Unfortunately, that only took about seven minutes, and only because he prolonged it.

Then, Natasha spoke. "Clint."

"Clint, don't you dare ignore me. Not me." his eyes flashed to hers for a moment, before dropping to stare steadfast at his shoes. His entire body was tense, and unmoving. Clint had leaned forward, his arms crossed and resting on his knees, his head hanging down. Natasha's eyebrows drew together, and she frowned.

Clint is the only person Natasha is close to. No, they didn't have the sitcom relationship of best friends. She didn't call him for advice, or buy him birthday gifts. In fact, she didn't even know his birthday. Clint never asked her what she thought of a recent magazine cover, never admonished her for going out in the rain without a coat. Natasha could never imagine going to Clint's apartment, or him coming to hers, just to see each other. No, they weren't like that. But a year ago, on a cold subway ride back to their safe house after a particularly violent escapade, it was Clint who pulled her into his arms, wrapping his coat around her wet body and sharing his warmth with her. It was Clint who put her broken fingers back into place, splinted them with a strip of fabric he tore from his own clothes and wood from a pile of debris. When Clint found her screaming, begging to be killed in that small, dark room in Budapest, it was he who got the drugs out of her system, Clint who tied her hands and limbs so she could do no more damage to herself. If someone asked Natasha who her closest friend was, she would not answer with Clint Barton. But no one has ever been able to keep her in this much debt; never had she owed her life, several times over, to anyone. Clint Barton is the exception. He always is. Always has been.

So when she sees him, she sees straight through him. False smiles mean nothing to her, she has been lying since she could speak, and his lies don't fool her like they did the others. Something was wrong with him, very wrong. Over the past few months, he had become closed off. He didn't laugh like he used to. When he spoke to her, his words were wrong, the wrong tone, inflections, wrong _everything. _The way he ignored her now, flinched when she tried to touch his shoulder, it was wrong. If Natasha didn't know, she would think he was under Loki's spell again; he was almost a completely different person and it scared her. It utterly terrified her, to see the man who had always been strong beside her in battle, ever ready for anything that could come at him, reduced to this silent shell of a man.

The car went over a particularly large pothole, and Clint's head snapped up, their eyes meeting again. Her hand was still on his rigid shoulder, and Natasha moved it to his chin, forcing him to keep his head up, to look at her. His jaw clenched, she could feel it happen beneath her fingers, and she put her other hand to his face, cupping his cheek. With both hands on either side of his face, Natasha firmly held his gaze, and said quietly.

"Let me help."

His eyes traveled from hers, to her speaking mouth, back to her eyes. He seemed almost sorry when he spoke.

"You can't."

The car lurched to a stop, and Clint straightened, pulling away from her hands. She felt the roughness of stubble as he did so, and let her hands drop to her lap. The driver exited the car, and moved around back to open the door. By the time they were out of the car and both cars were on their way back to wherever they came from, Natasha was over to the others, speaking to Bruce, and Clint was standing alone, staring up at the large, metal power plant they seemed to be at. Tony passed around a small earpiece and microphone, tossing Clint his.

"Okay, set these all to the third frequency, that's conference. Anything you say, however quietly, will be heard by the rest of us, so if you see anything, need help and find yourself without the comfort of my beautiful suit by your side, just call."

Tony moved towards Steve to adjust the frequency for him, and Bruce took over.

"Apparently, this was a water treatment plant before the energy started flaring. This, and the nearby towns have been evacuated, in case things go south. It has many floors and rooms, so try not to get lost. Tony and I have come to the conclusion that we should go in, see what we can, and then regroup a mile north of here to discuss."

Everyone nodded, and Clint found himself staring at Natasha's stony face. His shoulders relaxed. She was all business now, no time to speak with him, try to find out what it was he wasn't telling her. He felt the slightest bit better. Maybe a job was what he needed, something to focus on. He rolled his shoulders, letting the tension ebb away a little, as he prepared to go in the plant.

"I'll take top floors." he said, and with that, the Avengers were ready. One quick glance at each other, and then they were all focused, moving inside. It was recon, so they split up, Clint climbing ladders and stairways, silently making his way to the top. Bruce went to the lower levels, counting his heartbeats. Natasha, Steve, and Tony went together, farther in towards the center of the plant before branching off, Tony exploring the central controls and power supplies, Steve heading left down halls, and Natasha was left to the vats of treated and untreated water in the western wing of the plant. It was mostly quiet, the only noises in their ears were the occasional "ooph," of someone trying to budge a heavy door, and Tony's cries of disgust at the lack of technological advances in the control rooms. For twenty minutes, they searched, and found nothing.

"Okay, meet up. One mile north, remember." came Tony's voice in everyone's earpieces. He started to say more, but his voice quickly dissolved into static.

"Tony? Hey, I can't hear you anymore." Steve.

"There's a lot of heavy metal here, it could be blocking the signal. Just go, he's probably fine." Bruce.

Natasha took one last look around the darkened room, and turned back towards the door. She made her way through hallways, and was nearly halfway way to the center when suddenly Tony's voice hissing back through.

"- know what exactly, but Jesus Christ it's - FUCK-"

Natasha broke into a run, trying to get to the central controls to see what Tony was up against. Steve's confused and concerned voice could be heard in between hissing bouts of static, less and less clear the closer Natasha got to where she last saw Tony.

"- bomb I think we need to le-" Static in her ear, crunching metal sounds echoing in the hallway. " - out get out now can you hear me it's fu-" Natasha heard Tony's suit before she saw him, she turned a corner and saw Tony, his metal covered arms deep in some kind of gel that seemed to be sentient and fighting back. He looked like he was trying to reach a dark square inside the gel, but tendrils of sparking blue gel were wrapping themselves around his suit. Natasha pulled her gun from her belt and fired two rounds into the middle of the blue thing, causing it to recoil and allowing Tony to break free. His suit powered up, and the noise his jets made was deafening in the tiny room and he sped toward Natasha, grabbing her around the waist and dragging her down the hallway away from the room. Something blue was beginning to curl around the corner, and Natasha shouted, "What _is _that?" at Tony. He dropped to the ground, pushing her sideways and sending a pulse of energy from his hand towards the thing. Again, it drew back from the blast and slunk back into the room. Suddenly, their ears were assaulted with the combined shouts of panic and questions from the others and hissing static.

"SHUT UP!" Tony roared, sending another burst of the blue energy to the end of the hall.

"Get out if you haven't already, some kind of bomb, and alien freaking octopus, is attacking me right now so I'd appreciate some radio silence!"

Tony grabbed Natasha's arm, turning her with him, and shoved her forward. They both started running again, trying to make it outside the power plant, before whatever that was attacked them again. They had just made it to a stairway, Tony already at the top, when the sound and shock wave of an explosion knocked him forward, sending him skidding farther away from Natasha as she was lifted into the air and slammed into the stairs by the wave. Rubble collapsed around her, and excruciating pain attacked her left leg, she tried to stand, but she couldn't see, everything around her was a hot iron and stone mess. Twisted lumps of metal and rock pelted her as another explosion rocked the power plant, the earpiece shrieking uselessly in her deaf ears. Her leg is now deadened, and the lack of feeling frightens her more than the pain that was there seconds ago, she hears nothing, just feels a dull pounding in her head, and her eyes refuse to focus. The deadened feeling travels up to her hips, down the other leg, and she drunkenly thinks, _I've broken my spine. _Then the feeling engulfs her chest and head and everything is black.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for waiting so long Meggie, I finally finished chapter one! Please tell me how you guys like this, it's the first Avengers fic I've written.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony had been successful in his warnings preceding the explosion. Clint, Bruce and Steve had made it out of the plant, just before the first shockwave rocked and destroyed the building. They hadn't made it far enough to escape injury, however. Clint received a gash in his forehead from a flying piece of shattered window, while Steve found himself with heavy bruising on his left arm and shoulder. Bruce had been lucky, a little battered and breathing heavily, but uninjured and still Bruce, rather than the other guy. The three watched in horror as heavy black smoke billowed up from the decimated plant, stinging their eyes and causing them to cough heavily, the acrid fumes of burning chemicals searing their throats.

Clint is the first to act. Pressing the heel of his palm to the wide gash through his left eyebrow, he squints at the wreckage, trying to see through the flames growing steadily higher and the blood stubbornly streaming from beneath his hand. He stumbles forward, before regaining his balance and quickening his pace. Steve tries to grab his arm, yelling some warning about the flames and smoke, but Clint tears his arm out of the grasp, and keeps moving. He is nearly to the broken doorway when Steve grabs him bodily from behind, and pulls him away.

"You can't go in there! The fire is too big!" Shouted the soldier, still struggling to drag him away from the doorway. Clint turned to face him, and using his bloodied hand, he tries to punch Steve, shouting himself hoarse as the other man dodged and yelled back. The words barely registered, something about _calling Fury _and _too dangerous to go back in, you'll be no help if you're dead_ but Clint doesn't listen, he _can't _listen because damn it, Natasha is inside the burning wreckage and if he doesn't go back for her, she _will _die and that is something Clint can not allow. He spent too much time keeping her alive to stand back and watch her burn. The men are still struggling against each other when Bruce drops to his knees, and stands again, huge and green. Without so much as a glance at the two men, Hulk lumbers into the fire, tearing obstacles out of his way with righteous anger and bellows. Blood flows from his wound freely now as Clint jerks himself out of Steve's hold, and the two watch as the Hulk disappears into the fire and smoke. It feels like an agonizingly long time before he returns again, with a blackened metal body slung over his shoulder.

Tony is carefully put on the ground, and the Hulk backs away cautiously, lowering himself to his knees, before shrinking back into Bruce. Bruce seems to collapse into the dirt, the fire casting shadows over his smoke streaked face. Clint watches from the corner of his eye as Steve runs to him, tries to pull the mask from his face and hissing when hot metal burns his palms. Clint looks back into the fire. He should, perhaps, be concerned for Tony, in the hot metal suit. But he isn't. Maybe he will feel guilty about this later on, but right now he is taking advantage of Steve's attempts to get the scorching metal off of Tony, right now he is throwing himself forward, pulling his sweat soaked shirt up over his nose and diving through the doorway, blinking through blood and sweat and thundering through flames. He can't see a damned thing, his shirt is doing nothing to protect him from the smoke and it feels as if his throat and lungs are cooking in the heat. His head has now stopped bleeding, and blood crusts over his eye, sealing it shut. Fire licks at him from all directions, hot and heavy. Clint's skin is blistering and every cell in his body is screaming at him in pain, his mind is a raging conflict of wants and needs. He wants to get away from this fire, this pain. He wants to breathe clean air and not taste smoke and harsh fumes. He needs, _needs _to find Natasha. The sounds of wrenching metal grabs his attention, and he is forced to stumble backwards to avoid being hit by the falling support beam. The walls are literally collapsing around him, and every ounce of self preservation in his body is protesting, and he knows he should go back, get out and leave because if he stays much longer, it won't matter if he finds Natasha or not, soon they would both die in here. Clint pushes away the thought that she might already be dead. It's replaced with the realization that he wouldn't be bothered much by his own death. Of course he isn't running into the flames to welcome death, but if it happens, well, it isn't like he has much to live for anymore. Even less, if Natasha dies. His thoughts are interrupted as a hand grabs his arm, the steely grip threatening to break his bones as it yanks him back, and Steve shouts at him as he pulls him from the plant, "What the HELL are you thinking? Do you want to die? Are you _asking_ to be killed?"

They both collapse outside, the hot dry air feels like a caress on Clint's blistered and burned skin. He vaguely hears Steve telling him not to go back in, and registers a feeble groan that sounds a lot like Tony. He doesn't care. For a moment Clint struggles to push himself off the ground, before giving up, and falling flat again. Every breath he takes sears his throat and lungs, and his head is spinning. He closes his eyes, and turns his head, pressing his nose into the dirt. There's no way Natasha survived. How could she? If the fire didn't burn her alive, the collapsing metal and stone would crush her to death. Even if she managed to dodge the rubble and flames, the smoke would smother her. Clint's fists went slack, and he presses his face harder into the ground. A small rock is painfully pressing against his cut eyebrow, reopening the wound. Soon his face is caked in blood and dirt, and he doesn't care. The last time he had spoken to Natasha, she had been trying to help him, and he had been cold. He had been distant and ignored her attempts to help him, the only person she gave two shits about. The throbbing in his head worsens. He had seen the hurt in her eyes at Stark Tower when he turned his back on her. Now she is dead. Her flesh burning and melting, her body crushed by metal and stone. Dead.

* * *

When Clint comes to, his ears are greeted with a quiet whirring noise, something akin to a fan, and beeping on his left. He tries to open his eyes, but it hurts, oh it hurts, so he keeps them closed and instead moves his arm, attempting to touch the gash above his left eye when a sharp pain in the crook of his elbow stops that movement, too.

"Yeah, I would just not move if I were you." Tony. So he was alive. He sounded like shit, but at least he could speak. Tony cleared his throat, but his voice was still faint and hoarse when he spoke again.

"You've got an IV and an oxygen mask, just so you know."

Clint nodded, disliking the pressure on his mouth. He didn't have to open his eyes to know he was back with S.H.I.E.L.D., in the medical bay. Tony wouldn't be this calm if they were captured, and the only hospital they ever went to was with S.H.I.E.L.D., no matter how much they tried to avoid Fury. It wasn't a bad facility, it was clean, organized, and generally equipped to deal with the injuries they usually show up with. Once, he had been stuck in here for a week, only surviving boredom because Natasha -

Natasha.

Clint opened his eyes. The light was piercing, immediately forming a headache, but he didn't blink. He accepted the sharp pain, feeling it ebb away into a dull throbbing behind his eyes. As they adjusted, he shifted his sight to the bed on the opposite end of the room. Tony looked worse than he sounded. Thick white gauze covered half his face, and his entire neck and shoulder. He was shirtless, and Clint could see the half of his chest that wasn't bandaged was stretched tight and shiny like a balloon, less severe burns scalded into his flesh. Tony quirked a smile, and said, "Turns out metal conducts heat. Who knew?"

Clint used his IV free arm to pull off the oxygen mask, then the IV from his other arm. His lungs still hurt, but not nearly as bad as he remembers. Clearly they had done some good while he was out cold. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and shook his head roughly, trying to compose himself enough to walk.

"Hey uh, you actually might want to stay in bed-" Clint stood, and began walking to the door. "Ok cool I'll just sit right here, I'd try and stop you but you know, one hell of a sunburn-"

His hand had just reached for the handle, when someone outside the door opened it. Steve, back in his civilian T-shirt and jeans, looked Clint up and down before ordering, "Back in bed."

Clint could have laughed. Steve stood in front of him, barring his way like Clint was some disobedient child who didn't want to take a nap. Steve stared back at him, impassive and unmoving. Clint made a move to reach for his arrows before he realized he didn't have them, he was in a patient issued shirt and pants, arrows not included. His jaw clenched, and his fingers curled up into a fist. Muscles tensing, Clint prepared to ram his fist into Rogers' nose-

"She wasn't there, you know."

He falters, arm lowering to his side.

"We searched the entire place, turned on the GPS in her communication equipment. No body in the plant, and we traced the GPS all the way to the Black Sea before we lost that."

His fingers unfurl, his hand is loose against his thigh.

"If you at least sit in the bed, I'll tell you what else we have."

* * *

He didn't really have much else, it turned out. They didn't know if she was alive or not, they didn't know where she was, all they knew is that she had somehow gotten from Bangladesh to somewhere over the Black Sea. Which then brought up the question, how the _hell _did she get there so fast? Clint was making a mental list of ways he could get to the Black Sea without Steve trying to stop him, when a booming voice drew his attention to the doorway.

"Friends!" Thor bellowed, striding into the room. His very presence seemed to bring energy, and Clint felt what was left of the hair on his arms stand on end. Thor looked at Clint, and then around to Tony. "My friends! Who has caused such pain and trouble for you?" Tony shrugged, then caught his breath, his face twisting into a pained grimace.

"Ah- yeah, we're working on that one." he groaned. "I can't use any of my tech here because Fury will try and hack it, and probably end up ruining my iTunes." Tony's heavily bandaged hand pressed the button for morphine, and the eye that wasn't covered in swaths of gauze fluttered closed. "And," he continued, his voice still hoarse and pained, "I refuse to let Fury send any of his goons to MY labs, because their grubby little hands will probably ruin everything."

Thor's eyebrows drew together, and he turned to Clint. "Can you not perform this task?"

Clint shook his head, disliking the static electricity he felt run over his scalp. Tony scoffed. Well, he tried. Instead of sounding condescending, it was quite pathetic. "I don't think anyone short of NASA could use my equipment. Well, no, scratch that. Bruce could do it, but even he wouldn't be able to -"

"Are you saying you require assistance?"

"Well, not _require _exactly, I would do it but I'm giving a little TLC to my sunburn at the moment."

Clint rubbed his hands over his face, the sharp pain over his eye a welcome distraction from Tony. He was so proud, couldn't ask for help when he needed it. Even for a friend, even for Natasha. Clint's jaw clenched, and the dull throbbing morphed into a pounding headache as Thor's voice steadily rose, assaulting his eardrums. How could they be so calm? How are they able to sit here, arguing over who got to touch Tony's stupid computers? Clint's blood quickened, the pounding in his head now harmonizing with the pulsing of blood in his ears and he was about to snap, ready to scream at them, show them just how _pathetic _they were when-

Steve spoke; Clint had forgotten he was even in the room.

"Tony." his voice was sharper than usual. "Ask Bruce, ask Pepper, call NASA if you have to. I don't care about your problem with Fury, because the longer we wait, the less chance we have of finding Agent Romanoff."

Tony had the decency to look abashed. "Er, right. Well. Can you get Pep on the phone for me, then?"

* * *

_It's cold, so bitterly cold. Black Widow is shaking, violently shaking as her body tries to raise its temperature. Every shudder is accompanied by the searing pain in her left leg, she tries to sit, tries so hard to lift her head from the wet floor, but her arms collapse beneath her and she cries out, the noise harsh and ragged against the quiet darkness. Her hands curl into fists and she tries again. Pushing against the cold, wet floor with her knuckles, she strains against her own weight. Her eyes are open, but she can't see a thing. Everything is so black, so dark. There is no faint difference in the shades of black. It is all one, an absence of color, enveloping her and tricking her senses. She sits, her legs on the floor and her chest in the air, barely held up by her quivering arms as she listens, smells, tries to find anything, anything to tell her where she is, what has happened. A soft, quiet dripping can be heard, somewhere from her left. It is not steady, sometimes it is quick and insync, and then it will stop, silence will fall and she resists the urge to scrape at her ears, because the silence is so great she thinks she may be deaf, and then it starts up again, a soft plink of water hitting the ground. Her lips are cracked and bloodied, it pains her to open her mouth, sucking in the stale, damp air. She tastes mildew, dust and blood. Again, she tries to move, tries to carefully flip herself onto her back. It is agony. The bones in her leg scream at her, cursing her for such stupidity. The pain doesn't ebb, it is hot and violent, felt with every intake of breath. Black Widow slowly lowers herself to the ground again. The cold, wet stones beneath her chill her skin, even through her clothing. A dry sob escapes her lips and echoes around her. She knows. Somehow, she knows, that she will not leave this place. There is no jailer to trick and escape from. No iron bars to slip between. Stealth and strength are useless here, here in this dank, miserable place long forgotten. She has no team to help her, to watch her back as she fights her way free. _

_There is no fight here, she thinks. The dripping water falters, quiets, and begins again. Her eyes are heavy, they slip shut. There is no fight where there is no life. She tries to be disgusted with herself. Tries to berate her lack of conviction, how easily she gave up. But she can't. The air around her is thick, heavy and pressing on her face. Her lungs fill with the stuff, expel it, but it in in her. This is hopelessness. Foul and reaching, destroying all vestiges of bravery and beliefs. Here, she is not Black Widow, the assassin. There is no Natasha Romanoff, S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Here, there is a body. Broken and abused, waiting to die. That is what lives here. Death swirls around her, speaks to her through the falling water. Death caresses her face, numbs her lips and flows in and out of her lungs. Death is patient, death is simple. The girl lies silent now, shuddering breaths all that prove her living. Death can wait, calm and watching. Natasha's body shudders now with more than cold. Tears streak her face, cutting clean pathways through the filth and grime that coats her skin. She brings one hand to her chest, presses it to her left breast. Her heart beats steadily beneath her fingers. She wonders how long that will last._

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_A/N;  
_Just fyi, I totally have a plan for this, and I am loving writing it! Megan, don't kill me, I know you wanted a happy ending to this chapter. But hey, she's alive, right?

Review me guys, critique me!


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